Wishing
by buddieswithbilis
Summary: A lonely Ianto is struggling to deal with Jack's disappearance, and while Owen isn't exactly helping matters, there might actually be light at the end of their tunnel.


A/N - 11/7/16 : I'd just like to point out that any similarities to the new Big Finish story are purely coincidental. I'm adding this author's note a day after posting my story as I've literally only just this morning received my 'Broken' cd through the post and am stunned at how certain parts of the dialogue and my ideas match each other. I would have pulled my finger out and posted this a week earlier if I'd realised lol.

I think I'd better add a disclaimer as well ... Assurances to everyone concerned with 'Broken' - when I penned this tale, set after Series One, over a year ago, I had no idea that this was going to happen. No copyright infringement intended whatsoever.

Phew. Okay ...

Wishing - aka - The Loneliness of Ianto Jones

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Journal Entry No.:

 _Sorry, lost count._

No. of days J H missing:

 _Way too many to count._

Current mood:

 _Still not counting my chickens._

About to spend another night on my own?

 _You can count_ _on it._

Deep thought of the Day:

 _I feel_ _wronged. On so many levels …._

 _I mean, I'm Human, am I not? So, yes, I occasionally get things wrong; I'm perfectly capable of making the odd bad judgement call here and there. Deepest apologies and all that, but like I said; I'm Human. I can't help it._

 _And rather conveniently, this observation leads me onto my …._

Burning question of the week:

 _If everyone deserves a second chance (and they do, that's an absolute given in my eyes), why are the people on this tiny planet so quick to condemn? After all, we're not born 'bad'. We don't leave the womb hopelessly accident prone or hating others just because they happen to be different in some way. That very first scream, that blast of shattered air that leaves our new-born lungs, isn't a cuss or threat of retribution for being dragged from all that once seemed safe and secure. Above everything it's a plea for reassurance - already we're being governed by our need to feel loved and cared for._

 _And that feeling never goes away. God knows I'm living proof of that._

 _That point in my life, when I lost sight of all that was good, just and right, those very emotions were at their strongest. I allowed them to overwhelm me, take control of my whole; they proved triumphant in dictating my actions. And all because I feared the love I'd come to rely on, was slowly slipping away - That 'she' was slipping away. And becoming only more deluded by the day, I convinced myself to continue with my schemes and plans._

 _Of course, every action spawns a consequence, and, eventually, as I became blinded by my needs, I lost touch with everything that should have mattered. I surrendered all rights to forgiveness, lost my entitlement to that God-given second chance that I champion so strongly._

 _Bottom line?_

 _I fucked up. I was dangerous. 'I' was now the enemy – and there should have been no mercy._

 _But somebody changed the rules. My executioner stood down to become my saviour in, oh, so many ways. Witnessing my anger, he saw through it, and in forgiving one monumental moment of blind stupidity, Jack showed me mercy. He cared enough to give me that second chance._

 _Looking back on how grateful I felt at that time, it seems ironic that I now sit here day after day asking myself the same question ….._

 _A second chance?_

 _A second chance to do what, Jack? Feel more alone than ever before? Feel so unloved, discarded and unwanted, that I see out every fucking day wishing I had the guts to pull the trigger myself?_

 _Second chances? ... Consumer warning: read the instructions very carefully, then do yourself a huge favour and ignore them. They lie. They always lie. Second chances don't come cheap. They fuck with your brain, flood your soul with guilt. Each day, from dawn 'til dusk, then right back round to daybreak, I feel obliged to qualify Jack's show of leniency by making amends with a volley of veiled apologies. And it never stops:_

' _More coffee, Owen? Not a problem'_ …..

' _Extra bakery run, Tosh? I'm right on it.'_ …..

' _More dry cleaning, Gwen? Of course, hand it over, I'll take it_ _straight away.'_

 _And all I can do is smile gratefully as those same colleagues repress their resentment in the name of stability. I force myself to nod and get on with things as they pretend to care; offering their sympathy and support while in truth they know so very little about me. I'd rather they said nothing at all if I'm honest. Each moment feels awkward at best - with Tosh especially. But in a job like this it does help if we can get along and, for the most part, I guess you could say that we do._

 _Of course, there's still no sign of you know who. And, quite naturally, my head's all over the place. My concentration suffers on a daily basis. There are moments when I experience a certain amount of success in forcing myself not to care, but they're few and far between and never last for very long. Some days I'm irrational with anger, while others are spent simply wondering and worrying. But whatever I'm doing, I'm thinking about him constantly. I can't help it._

 _Sitting here in his office, adding yet another self-pitying entry solely to make myself feel better, I find myself wondering if he knew from the word go, the ultimate consequence involved with the choice he made on my behalf. That day he chose to break his own rules and forgive me, was he aware then, of the effect his actions were going to have on me? Did he encourage our 'friendship', allow me to get 'closer than close' to him, all the time knowing that, in no time at all, he'd be leaving me behind without a word ….. no explanation … no goodbye? I hated Owen for that 'part-time shag' dig he made. Now I hate him for being right all along. Christ, this hurts._

 _I wish I could hate Jack too, for making me feel so pathetic. But peer as deep as you like, the only thing you'll find within me is a never ending sense of love for the man._

 _How can that be? You tell me …. I haven't managed to work that out yet. Or why I'm finding it so hard to let him go - and, worse, why I feel the need to write this shit about the bastard every single fucking day. Who knows, maybe I'm over thinking things (I am Human, remember!). Maybe he does still deserve my love._

 _Or maybe he doesn't. Maybe I'm just a sad and lonely fool embarrassing both myself and the Institute._

 _Or maybe ….._

"Ianto! Come on - diary down mate; we've only gone and got ourselves a live one!"

Professional mask already back in place, Ianto slipped his journal into the bottom right-hand draw then locked it.

Pocketing the key, he began to follow the team's medic from Jack's office, and with a few hurried steps Owen took himself out into the refurbished Hub.

As they skirted the workstations he looked back over one shoulder. "Gwen's had a call from that copper mate of hers. I've sent her 'n' Tosh to fetch the motor and told them we'll meet them out front. But if Cooper thinks she's drivin' this time she's got another think comin'; she scared the bloody shit out of me last week." he announced, features pinching unfavourably at the memory.

"Weevil?"

Offering the half-hearted suggestion Ianto tried his best to appear enthusiastic. His appetite for all things Rift-related had been decidedly lacking of late, but that didn't mean he'd stopped wanting to do his bit for Queen and country. Torchwood was in his blood now, guarding the Rift was all he could ever imagine himself doing and, when called upon, he'd always do whatever was required of him. _But,_ without Jack there to lead them, well, things just weren't the same anymore, were they. That distinctive spark of excitement was missing.

Since the Abaddon debacle, things had been relatively quiet - which was a bonus considering the only person who truly knew what he was doing had decided to disappear without trace. Rift-wise, they'd had the odd extra-terrestrial thing drop through; things lacking a pulse mainly, bits of tech that had managed to keep Tosh occupied, if nobody else. But it was a given that any form of retrieval without Jack, was going to end with an anti-climax.

Dutifully bringing up the rear this time around, Ianto was waiting patiently for Owen to offer a response. Even if Janet's wary relatives had spent most of the last few months in a state of hibernation, given that they still formed the largest non-human contingent within the fair City of Cardiff, with the news that a 'live one' was on the loose, a Weevil had seemed the most logical choice to take a guess at.

Owen triggered the security gate. With the cogged wheel behind it rolling back, talking over the top of the proximity alarm he looked around for a second time. "Weevil? Nah." Eyes creasing at the corners, he gestured with a nod that Ianto should make his way through first. "You're gonna love this." he grinned, already starting to laugh as he followed along behind. "'Bout half hour ago the Old Bill took a call from a member of the public. Turns out he's got a gunshot wound. They've sent him to A & E."

A stoic expression formed, suggesting that Ianto wasn't feeling staggeringly excited thus far.

"Ah, and what's that got to do with us, I hear you ask." the doctor teased straight away, clearly enjoying the moment. "Well our injured guy is swearin' blind that a walkin' talkin', suited and booted fish blasted a hole in his left thigh then nicked his convertible!"

"Different."

The piqued element to the Welsh tones was tottering ever forward, closing in to the point where Ianto was almost, but not quite, showing a genuine interest. "And not one mention of a hoodie?" he checked.

Owen shook his head.

"Or a flick-knife?"

Owen, now laughing hard, shook his head again.

"Shocking, I don't know what this city's coming to." Ianto dead-panned striding into the lift, "Well I take it they're checking his blood for added extras." he guessed, secretly appreciating the unusual moment of light-heartedness.

"Yeah, 'course they are. But we both know they're not gonna find anythin', right?"

The lift came to a stop and Owen stepped out, tourist office bound. "Bloody Jack would've loved this," he exclaimed. "Foot to the floor 'round the streets of Cardiff; chasin' a stolen vehicle with a soddin' Blowfish at the wheel? It's brilliant! You couldn't make it up!"

Following along, so therefore out of sight, his heart suddenly leaden, Ianto couldn't have looked more distraught if he'd tried. Yes, Owen was right - for many reasons Jack should have been there. But he wasn't, and the reminder was cutting deep. The mere mention of the man's name had been enough to spoil his unexpected good mood and send him spiralling back into that deep, dark pit of depression. "Yes, well Jack's not here, is he? And it's all very well you joking around like this, Owen, but he'd still be expecting us to deal with things professionally." he felt obliged to point out, hoping straight away that it hadn't sounded too much like he was sulking. He'd had lots of similar comments about his mood of late; accusing him of sulking when, in reality, he was just feeling way too sad to crack a smile.

Owen pushed up on the button below the desk and nodded that Ianto should make his way through the unhitched door before him. "Jesus, you know you really need to lighten up a bit. Yeah, we all miss him in our own way and, yeah, it's a bastard that the bastard's not here with us right now. But look on the bright side – at least we've actually got somethin' to do for a change, I mean, _you_ might enjoy spending every minute of every soddin' day shut away in that bloody office of his, but I, for one, am fuckin' sick of bein' stuck inside this place ."

"You don't understand." was all Ianto could think of saying as he took the hint and made his way out onto the quayside.

And nobody ever could understand exactly how lonely or broken he was feeling. Jack had left them. Not one of them knew if he was ever going to come back, and that thought alone, that one single possibility, had been tearing him up inside for months on end. After Abaddon, believing that Jack had died for the last and final time, stood there devastated in his office, holding onto that damned coat of his, he'd genuinely believed that was as bad as things were ever going to get.

But this? Not knowing one way or the other? How could he possibly be expected to move on?

And there it was - the real reason for those many sullen looks. Everyone was expecting him to just move on with his life. But he didn't want to move on. He just wanted Jack back here in Cardiff with him. That was the only thing he wanted. That was the only thing that could make him happy.

"Oi! Come on … out you get. I'm drivin'."

Out front of the Millennium Centre, as Owen dragged a protesting Gwen from the driver's seat, keeping his thoughts to himself, with a sigh Ianto climbed into the back of the SUV.

And so, there they were, off on another mission without Jack there to guide them. They'd survive of course, they always managed to somehow. And they'd save the day - they had no bloody choice _but_ to - it was, after all, still their job to deal with any unusual occurrences; that was what the continuing monthly bank-transfers were all about. And still there in body, if not in mind, Ianto Jones would do his part. Then later on, when the others had taken their leave of the Hub, alone once again, he'd curl up on Jack's cot to pray for something that resembled a dreamless sleep. His dreams were never of nice things, in fact, these days not falling asleep at all was much more preferable, but, of course, not always an option.

"Ianto? Are you okay?"

Tosh's smile became concerned enough to distract him.

"I'm fine." he reassured her, quickly smiling back before taking evasive action by looking out through the pane next to him.

Yep, everything was just fine. He was Ianto Jones. He'd already switched to autopilot; was there because the team couldn't afford to be another man down. He'd do his part, do what was necessary to maintain Torchwood Three's reputation then he'd go back to the Hub, back to Jack's cot and try to survive yet another lonely night without him.

"Oi, Gwen, look, there's an old girl stood at that crossin' up front. Try askin' her if she's seen anythin'."

As Owen hit the brakes, slowing the SUV, still staring out at the passing houses Ianto closed his eyes.

Drawing in a silent breath and deliberately holding it, he lost himself in a wish.

A waste of time?

Who knew?

But it couldn't hurt to try, could it? Jack had to come back to him soon, surely?

And why couldn't 'soon' ... mean tonight?

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 **A/N:** Sometimes, just sometimes, wishes do come true.

-o- -o-

Thanks for reading … bwb.


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